


Mouse-letoe Mischief

by Luthienberen



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Christmas, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, POV First Person, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Dawson surprises Basil with a sprig of mistletoe, leading to satisfactory results of a romantic nature. : )
Relationships: Basil of Baker Street/David Dawson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Mouse-letoe Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okapi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/gifts).



> Written for Okapi as a Christmas Gift, following a lovely prompt of _“Great Mouse Detective, Basil/Dawson and Mouse-letoe”_ :) I hope it is enjoyable Okapi!

* * *

Two years have passed since I first become acquainted with Mr Basil of Baker Street. In that time we have faced many adversaries and undertaken a multitude of cases, ranging from the relatively normal with unique underpinnings, to the peculiar and bizarre. My favourite odd case was the one of the _Missing Christmas Stocking_.

To a causal reader it may sound nothing out of the ordinary, but the entire case was one of such mystery and intrigue that I cannot publish the details until the contents can no longer impact the course of mouse politics in Europe.

Suffice to say that the Premier Mouse of the United Kingdom was involved, along with a Cabinet Secretary of some import. The contents of the _Missing Christmas Stocking_ were of an importance one cannot ascribe too strong a value too, unless one were to discuss the treasure and virtues of devoted friendship and loving family.

Friendship and Family.

In Basil I had found both and I like to feel so has Basil in my good self.

Friends and indeed lovers – and we must be cautious of the latter becoming known. Yet we are careful, only becoming free once the door was securely locked and Mrs Judson tucked in her rooms, (for she is a compassionate lady mouse, but we rather keep the details from her).

So, it was that Christmas found us with the door securely locked and thankfully bereft of mice seeking to stop a European crisis.

A fire was roaring pleasantly in the fireplace, suffusing the room with an orange glow which my war weary bones found most gratifying. The chestnuts heating over the flames in their little pot, along with the mulled wine, did their bit in creating a veritable hot-house of delightful smells that had my mouth near watering.

Our Christmas tree (a small pot of discarded fir branches I had retrieved from upstairs while the two men slept) was bedecked in colourful paper chains, matchboxes, an angel and a few lit candles.

Very merry!

One object in particular however, had me rather hopeful. The anticipation of Basil’s reaction was causing me difficultly in not squirming on the spot!

The man was bathing as was his wont - and I try not to tease him for his “cat-like” love for cleanliness, but his expression is so humorous when I do, that I can hardly resist!

Ah!

Here he comes.

“Dawson!” cried Basil, sweeping into our living room with all the vibrating energy my detective possesses in his furry form.

A ruby coloured dressing gown was tied snugly around his lithe frame, which I admired in the brief moment I had, before a red flurry was upon me and dragging me to my feet. Even so, Basil as always remembered my stiff leg and was tender in his actions, offering an arm until I shook the stiffness out.

“Ah Dawson! Look! The chestnuts are ready and so is the wine.” He beamed at me, love smouldering away in those bright eyes I adored so much.

“Then we must make merry,” I said with a laugh, “but first.”

I took advantage of the fact that our arms were entwined and directed Basil to an innocent patch of carpet, next to our tree and out of sight of any window where a stray piece of curtain may inconveniently flutter open.

I brushed my fingers along his long snout, awed at how delicate that wonderful snout was and smiling at the sudden red hot blush staining those wonderful cheeks.

“My dear Basil,” I murmured, “you see but do not observe.”

Basil frowned and was clearly ready to protest when I tilted his head up to witness the sprig of mistletoe fixed there earlier by my partner in crime, Mrs Judson (who I hope was savouring the excellent thank you package of a wheel of Stilton and accompanying bottle of port).

The white berries against the bright green were beautiful and beckoned for us to do as many had before us.

Naturally, I obliged.

Our kiss was sweet and gentle, full of the tender affection we both harboured. Our tails entwined with the vigour of much younger mice, less torn by war and eroded by crime. Our bodies relished the closeness and pressure – slender frame against my portly countenance, muscle against muscle, hearts beating a jolly rhythm of their own.

I savoured our kiss and the small ones that followed, the brush of whiskers, the clasp of Basil’s thin delicate fingers over my arm which he still clutched, his tail dancing with mine with a strength belied by the delicate curve of his tail.

For that suspended embrace in time, Maiwand ceased to exist, the mice I couldn’t save then and those civilians I couldn’t now, at rest. Only our love and the perfection of our kiss under the mouse-letoe existed.

When at last we parted, we were both breathing heavily and Basil was slow to regain his mischievous self. When he had however, he laughed even as he brushed my moustache back into order.

“My stormy petrel of crime,” he sighed. There was a look in Basil’s eyes and a note to his voice that promised a long and eventual night ahead.

Since I was happily accommodating of such a promise I awkwardly swept Basil in my arms and staggered over the armchair where we collapsed, giggling like children.

Basil shifted only to save our chestnuts and mulled wine. Thus we partook of Christmas cheer until we retired two hours later for a further, more intimate, bout of Christmas cheer.

_~ Happy Mouse-mas! ~_

**Author's Note:**

> #The case mentioned within the above text does harken to a Case in the original canon _“The Second Stain”_ , I couldn’t possibly comment any further due to, as Dawson says, the sensitivity of both cases. ;->
> 
> #“My stormy petrel of crime,” is also adapted from the canon.


End file.
